Vivienne Hawlsy peered sourly at the angel tattooed on her collarbone. It wasn’t very well-done, but that added to its charm. It was an off-color sagging angel with faded wings and a droopy pair of tits. If there was a quality tattoo parlor in Williston, North Dakota, she’d have had it touched up by now. A lot about Vivienne needed to be touched up but couldn’t be because she was way out here in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing in Williston but one bar full of too many roughnecks who smelled like hydraulic fluid and had hands like catcher’s mitts. Both Vivienne and Williston had passed the point in their lives where they could make a change.
From Every Inch a King
Every Inch a King
At the brothel Lipsweet, Vivienne rules as queen, and the many roughnecks who come through are her subjects… But when